


but i'm a fire (and i'll keep your brittle heart warm)

by archetypically



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Nova (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Relationship Study, but i like it so i'm still keeping it, fluffy af by the ending, so current canon has changed some of this by now, this was written in between issues on the current run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archetypically/pseuds/archetypically
Summary: “There’s always good,” comes the counter after a time, even and almost reasonable. “You just have to find it. And in order to do that, you have to be in the present. If you dwell on the past, you’ll never be able to see it.” A beat, then: “Can you do that, Richard? Can you try to find the good in what’s around you? I’m willing to bet there’s much more than you think.”It’s a hard sell, because he’s been everywhere, to the other side of the universe and back and then some; if good is out there, he’d have found it by now. But he nods, as he stands from his chair, and agrees. To try — and actually means it, because if nothing else, he keeps his word.
Relationships: Peter Quill/Richard Rider
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> al ewing out here like, "i'm gonna give the gays everything they want"

Rich comes back at the same time the next week, and the one after that, and the one after that. By a couple of months in, it becomes a routine, something he even comes to stop anticipating with dread.

No, he’ll never enjoy talking about himself, but over time, it does become less like pulling teeth. The sessions start to venture years back in time — to the Annihilation War, to the years when he’d tried to go home again but could never find his place, even to some of the earliest memories of his childhood. In one, even though his hands are shaking and he’s somewhere halfway between wanting to throw up and wanting to bolt, he talks about the Cancerverse, yanks every horrible detail out of himself that he can; finds himself blurting out that, if something like that can exist, it’s nearly impossible to believe in anything good.

Like everything, the therapist takes this in stride.

“There’s always good,” comes the counter after a time, even and almost reasonable. “You just have to find it. And in order to do that, you have to be in the present. If you dwell on the past, you’ll never be able to see it.” A beat, then: “Can you do that, Richard? Can you try to find the good in what’s around you? I’m willing to bet there’s much more than you think.”

It’s a hard sell, because he’s been everywhere, to the other side of the universe and back and then some; if _good_ is out there, he’d have found it by now. But he nods, as he stands from his chair, and agrees. To try — and actually means it, because if nothing else, he keeps his word.

To his surprise, though, slowly but surely, he manages to find little pockets of that good. He and Rocket swap Peter stories over beer, and by the end of it, they’re both laughing so hard that their sides hurt. He spars with Hercules, getting his ass thoroughly kicked in the process — but he gets his revenge in with a little good-natured teasing about Noh-Varr, so it’s all fine in the end. One day, he even calls his mom, and they talk about Robbie for hours, a first in a long time.

His smiles start to feel less forced. There’s a hollow feeling in his chest that never quite goes away, but with time, he thinks that hole starts to fill in with something — the love of friends and family that he can accept that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t completely unworthy of.

“You’re making great progress, Richard,” is what he gets at the end of the session when he finds himself saying it, and it doesn’t sound at all condescending; it sounds earnest, comes with a genuine smile that pulls one out of Rich, too. “I’m proud of you.”

For the first time, he thinks he can do more than just happen to stumble on the good. He actually feels — _hopeful_.

He gets the call when he’s halfway across the galaxy, just as he’s finished mediating a petty border dispute.

Rocket wouldn’t mess with him about this, but as he pushes the limits of his own speed to Halfworld, he just — he can’t help but doubt it. Even if he’s been trying, really trying, to let every little bit of good into his life that he can and avoid spiraling toward the bad, there are some things that just aren’t realistic. That are too much to hope for.

As he touches down onto the surface, moves enough dirt under his feet to draw some dirty looks in his direction, he starts bracing himself for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

Because when he makes his way across the lawn — _too much to hope for_ is staring him in the face just a few paces away.

“Pete?” He’ll wake up in a second, he’s sure. Because this could only be a dream, a particularly cruel one that just laughs in the face of everything raw and vulnerable, that takes all that progress he’s made and swipes the rug out from under his feet.

But he’d know this smile anywhere. He’d know: “Hey, Richie.”

It’s real, beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s good. It’s real.

Rich takes a step forward, and then another — and then, within seconds, he’s crossed the last of the distance between them.

“I —” His gaze drops, finding a spot on the grass. “I thought I’d never see you again. Thought you were _gone_ , and it was….”

 _My fault_. He stops himself just short of actually saying the words. Forces himself to remember everything he’s been working on for months. _Don’t dwell on the past. Be in the present. Find the good and hold onto it._

It’s only when he feels Peter’s thumbs wipe at his face that he realizes he’s crying. The gesture is so impossibly — gentle that his heart actually aches with it, and the tears just come harder, faster. Still, he lifts his eyes, not wanting to miss one more second of this. There are a hundred, ten thousand, _million_ things that he wants to say, that are swirling around in his brain faster than even a human rocket can catch them, but in the end, they all converge on one.

“I love you.”

Neither of them give time to let that sit. He doesn’t know who leans in first, whether it’s him or it’s Peter, but does it really matter? No. All that matters is the way they collide like it’s always been an inevitability, the way that when they do, it feels like Rich finally gets to release a breath that he’s been holding for way too long, the way that the whole idea of good completely fills the hollow spaces in him and feels like the last piece of a puzzle locking into place.

All that matters is what he hears whispered on a breath just before they dive into each other again: “I love you, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rich continues therapy, continues pondering life — wherever that leads

Sometimes, his therapist has told him over multiple sessions, with an unending patience that Rich thinks has to be up there with the greatest mysteries of the universe, you have to close some doors so others can open. Have to face the past to step into the future, because otherwise, there’s always going to be some kind of gravity pulling you back.

Months of therapy have made him more open-minded to things like this, no matter how pointless they may sound, or how much of a waste of time they may seem, at first; honestly, his therapist has yet to let him down so far. He gives some serious thought to it in his idle moments, between council meetings and doing his part to maintain tenuous intergalactic peace. What doors should he close? The Cancerverse itself has already been taken care of now, for good, so that’s not it. Robbie is still out there, and — no, he’s not ready for that one, as horrible of a person as that makes him, because that still hurts too much.

While enduring one particularly boring meeting at the Proscenium, as Zoralis Gupa, once again, spends half an hour stumbling over his own words to find his point (and really tries what little patience he has with politics to begin with), Rich finally gets a flash of an idea.

It’s one he’s going to need a little help with — and he’s slowly getting more open-minded about accepting _that_ , too.

One quiet afternoon (local time), he touches down onto the surface of Hala, with the _Bowie_ breaking atmosphere about ten minutes behind him. They could’ve gone on the ship together, but maybe there’d been a point to prove, a point that, by all indication, he has proven; the Human Rocket can _totally_ beat this ship any day of the week.

A satisfied smile tugs on his mouth to greet Peter as the other man finally disembarks and makes his way over toward him. Peter, in turn, pulls a frown, clearly exaggerated for comedic effect, before sticking out his tongue.

They’re two mature and dignified war heroes; they swear.

Which, incidentally, brings them to the reason why they’re here.

The helmet feels too stuffy for this, somehow, so Rich takes a second to peel it off his head and collapse it into his hand, reaching the other toward Peter as they begin to walk among the monuments to people they’d once fought beside — some returned, like them, others lost forever. His partner in every conceivable way, Peter is of course there to meet him, threading their fingers together; it helps, it really does, especially when the floating statue of Phyla makes his throat go particularly tight, and he begins to question even coming here in the first place.

You have to close some doors, he reminds himself, coming back to the moment and drawing strength from their connected hands, so others can open.

He’d never really put much thought into what it’d be like to see his own face in stone, to see himself towering over everything else, but it just — feels weird, mostly, he realizes as their feet finally come to a stop at the base of their destination. No, this is completely separate from him, from _them_ ; images from a storybook telling the legend of some great hero who’d never actually lived at all, but still represents something big to live up to, all the same. Rich swallows, and there’s a profound heaviness in his chest all of a sudden, but —

“They don’t even look like us.”

Thankfully, Peter has saved him — just like always. Taken the words right out of a mouth that hadn’t quite figured out how to form them.

Rich tilts his head. “You’re right,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice light. “Yours actually makes you look handsome.” 

That, and the smirk that forms on his mouth, get him a light punch to the bicep. He starts laughing, and a beat later, amends with, “Kidding! Seriously — if either of us went around looking like that much of a prick, I’d have done everyone else a favor and just kept us both in the Cancerverse.”

Peter laughs, too, and with that, some of the weird tension in the air begins to lift. A more comfortable silence settles between them.

For a while they stay like that, each wandering in their own thoughts — but connected by their hands, ensuring that neither will go far.

At one point, Rich feels a light, but deliberate tug on his fingers; following the unspoken signal, he turns to find Peter grinning at him, more than a glint of mischief in his eyes when he asks: “You wanna draw dicks on ‘em?”

The laugh that bursts out of Rich this time isn’t the same breathy, awkward thing from before; this is one that starts in his core and moves all the way through him, shaking his shoulders and bringing actual tears to his eyes. That… that’s _exactly_ what he’d needed in this moment, and when the laughter finally subsides and he manages to catch his breath again, when the last of the residual tears are wiped away, the gratitude is written all over his face — not just for this, but also for so many other things that he can’t even begin to express.

“I love you. Marry me.”

The words fall out of his mouth like they’re nothing, and in the immediate, he’s stunned. Not horrified, definitely not horrified, but — stunned, because the thought has honestly never crossed his mind before. (At least, not fully consciously.) He has a couple of options here. One, he can play it off like a joke before they both move on; that’s probably the better way to go, since it avoids some potential weirdness. But as his thoughts drift more toward the second one, really embrace the idea….

He thinks it feels _right_.

Before he thinks any more about it, Rich breaks their connection and crouches down until he has one knee in the grass, setting the helmet down beside him. He takes one of Peter’s hands again, this time with both of his own, and repeats, with all the soft, bright-eyed conviction in the universe: “Marry me?”

Peter’s eyes widen and he doesn’t say anything at first, and there’s just enough space for the doubts to start creeping in. Stupid, stupid; of course he isn’t ready for this, neither of them are ready for this, probably never will be, and it’s fine, it’s not like they need it, that’s just movie stuff, they’re —

Before he can really register what’s happening, Rich finds himself pulled off of the grass and into the tightest of embraces. Feels lips press against his before responding in kind.

Sometimes, Rich thinks, before all thought blissfully fades, you gotta close some doors so others can open.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me on tumblr!


End file.
